


Alpha

by Laylah



Series: Creature Comforts [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: M/M, Polyamory, Submission, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-14
Updated: 2006-07-14
Packaged: 2017-10-21 09:35:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/223730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What he needs is someone less demanding. What he needs is someone who won’t fight giving him what he wants, every step of the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alpha

He’s just finished putting himself back together — figuratively and literally — after the evening’s bout with Kimberly, and he needs something a little more soothing before he calls it a night. Greed never spends the night alone, but he doesn’t stay with the alchemist, either. Neither of them would relax for a minute.

What he needs is someone less demanding. What he needs is someone who won’t fight giving him what he wants, every step of the way. His footsteps echo in the bare hallway of tonight’s stop, a shitty boarding house at the edge of South City. Greed pauses at the next door. What he needs is Dorochet.

He opens the door, and stops.

Dorochet isn’t alone. Martel is with him, both of them curled up under the thin blanket in a tangle of limbs gone stiff with surprise as they look up at him. Greed looks back. Martel’s room was his first stop tonight, and he didn’t think he’d left her that unsatisfied.

“We didn’t,” Dorochet says, sounding panicked. “I wouldn’t —” And he stops, staring nervously at Greed, looking like he very much wants to bare his throat and whine pitiably.

“I keep him company. He keeps me warm. That’s all,” Martel adds. Her shoulders are set and tense, ready to strike or dive for cover.

“I haven’t accused you of anything yet,” Greed points out, closing the door behind him and crossing the room casually. Dorochet looks ready to bolt, tail between his legs. Greed sits down on the edge of the bed, reaching out to run his fingers through Dorochet’s hair, to rest a hand on the nape of his neck. “You don’t need more tonight, do you?” he asks Martel.

“No,” she says, disentangling herself from Dorochet. “Do you want me to leave?”

Greed smiles. If she _wanted_ to leave, she’d just go. “I don’t mind if you stay,” he says with a shrug, and looks down at Dorochet. “As long as it doesn’t keep me from getting what I came here for.”

Dorochet looks from one to the other of them nervously. “Boss,” he says, and then falters.

Martel wraps her arms around him again, resting her forehead against his temple. “It’s okay,” she says. “I do it too, remember? If you need me to go, I will. But I’m not going to say anything about it if you let me stay.” She shivers, just a little.

“It’s cold in your room,” Dorochet says. “Isn’t it.” Greed stretches out beside him, smiling at the way he unconsciously shifts closer.

“Yeah,” Martel says, and she kisses his cheek gently. “You know...there’s nothing shameful about knowing who your alpha is. We’re soldiers, Dorochet. We all understand that.”

He’ll have to remember this, Greed thinks. The others aren’t good at subtlety. It’s a pleasant surprise to discover that Martel, at least, has skills that aren’t dependent on her weapons.

“Stay, then,” Dorochet says. She smiles, and hugs him briefly before withdrawing, and Greed is impressed all over again at how little pressure she’s had to apply to get what she wants.

He’ll compliment her on it later. Right now he wants a little focus, a little devotion, a little of the fierce loyalty that is Dorochet’s most appealing asset. “Strip,” he says, and finds himself deeply pleased by the way Dorochet rushes to comply. He shrugs out of his own clothes at the same time, dropping them in a careless pile beside the bed.

All of his chimeras have their share of scars, but Dorochet more than most. He looks like a junkyard dog, battered and patched, war stories written across his body. According to Law, Dorochet was the worst injured of all of them when they were first brought to the laboratory.

Sometimes it makes him angry, the fact that they were taken to the laboratory instead of a hospital. It’s why he has them now, of course, so he can’t be as upset as he would otherwise — if they’d been his already when the military caged them, for instance — but it still doesn’t sit right with him. Prisons make him angrier than they used to.

“Boss?” Dorochet pauses in the act of reaching for him, watching his face.

Greed wipes the snarl from his face with an effort. “I’m not angry at you,” he says, pulling Dorochet’s body to his own. Hard muscle, rough scars, and the contrast of complete, unthinking submission: Dorochet’s strength is pliable as soft clay in his hands. He rolls on top of the chimera, biting at the nape of his neck, and Dorochet goes limp under him with a whimper. “I’m not angry at you,” he repeats, half for his own benefit, reminding himself how good it is to take what’s freely offered, in addition to what’s hard-won.

“Tell me you want this,” Greed says. He knows he’s not being as reassuring as he should, especially with the added stress of having an audience, but he can’t quite put his own needs off that far.

And Dorochet, bless him, understands. “I want you,” he says, quiet but fierce. “I’m yours. Anything you need from me....” He arches his back, rocking up into Greed’s touch. “Take it.”

Greed nips at the back of his neck again, running possessive hands down his sides. “Very good. Thank you.” The praise actually provokes a physical response, a little shiver of pleasure, and Greed smiles. He values all his chimeras, but if there’s one that was really made for him it’s Dorochet, whose first and most powerful need is to belong to him. “Spread your legs for me,” he murmurs.

“Yes, sir.” Dorochet’s voice is soft, almost swallowing the assent. There have been nights when Greed chose to take that as a challenge, grabbed Dorochet by the hair and bent him over backward, pressed sharp claws against his bare throat until he whimpered with need and surrender.

Tonight it’s easier to read the gesture as it’s intended: Dorochet won’t so much as raise his voice to the leader of his pack. He pillows his head on his arms as he parts his knees, his eyes falling shut.

Greed looks up at Martel, who has retreated to a chair to watch them. She places a finger to her lips and nods to show she understands: as long as she doesn’t do anything to draw his attention, Dorochet will probably forget that she’s even there.

Which will make this go much more smoothly for all of them. Greed retrieves a bottle of oil from the pocket of his trousers and kneels between Dorochet’s legs, settling in, stroking gently.

It’s almost not personal, he thinks. It almost has to be — not a matter of who he is, but of _what_ he is to Dorochet. The alpha. The leader. Greed can barely imagine Dorochet doing this outside that context. But like this….

He slides his fingers up the backs of Dorochet’s thighs, provoking a shiver. “I want to hear you,” he says, smiling. “Beg.”

“Please,” Dorochet says without hesitation, “please, Greed, yes, do it. I’m yours,” and the last word comes out as a moan, as Greed pushes two slick fingers into him. He’s hot and yielding, relaxing around the invasion with practiced ease, his whole body flexing and opening in welcome.

“Fuck,” Greed purrs. It’s like being drunk, but better, more lasting — feeling how clearly Dorochet wants to give everything Greed wants to take.

“Please do,” Dorochet manages shakily, and Greed laughs.

“My pleasure,” he says, and it is, slicking his cock with a few quick strokes and pressing in smooth and fast and hard. With Dorochet he doesn’t have to wait, doesn’t have to be careful, doesn’t have do to anything but grip and push and snarl and _feel_.

Dorochet whimpers and pushes back, braced on his elbows, rocking into Greed’s thrusts. Greed doesn’t offer to jerk him off, and he doesn’t ask — they both know he won’t even need it if Greed just doesn’t — “don’t fucking stop,” he says, and on the next breath remembers to add, “please.”

“I’m not stopping,” Greed promises. “Not until you come for me.” This is the other reason he likes to go to Dorochet after Kimberly — he’s already taken the edge off, so it’s easier to keep up the pace Dorochet needs, harsh and dominating, and make it last.

He reaches up and grasps Dorochet’s shoulder for leverage, driving deep. Dorochet arches his back, changing the angle just a little, and moans helplessly. “Right there?” Greed asks, thrusting again.

From the way Dorochet writhes under him, he already knows the answer, before the chimera can draw breath to gasp, “Yes, oh please, right there, right _there_.” Dorochet throws his head back, shaking, more hungry sounds driven out of him at Greed’s every punishing stroke. He clutches at the sheets, clawing at them as if he’s trying to hold his hands still — as if he’s trying not to break the rules, trying to prove that Greed fucking him is all he needs.

And suddenly that loyalty is far more touching than Greed expected it to be. His hand slides down the curve of Dorochet’s hip without conscious thought. “So good,” he murmurs, “so good,” and it’s hard to tell how much of Dorochet’s answering whimper is for the words and how much is for Greed’s fingers closing around his cock.

It makes him completely incoherent, bucking and moaning, the muscles of his back bunching and sliding under the skin. His mouth is open but there are no words coming out, just hoarse fractured sounds of need. Greed closes his eyes, stroking faster, giddy with the sheer intensity of it. He can feel Dorochet getting closer, tensing and shivering –

“Now,” Greed says, “give it to me, now,” and Dorochet is oh so good at following orders, his body clenching and spasming hot and so fucking tight around Greed’s cock and shooting slick-wet into Greed’s hand and the sound he makes, the fucking _sound_ he makes –

Greed brings his hand up to his mouth, licking Dorochet’s come from his fingers, hungry for just a little more sensation — and there’s a hiss from the other side of the room, Martel watching, and he’d almost forgotten but that sound, like she’s getting off on this too, on seeing him do it — and it’s just — fucking — right –

And he doesn’t sound any more human than Dorochet when he comes, baring his teeth in a growl as he shudders and rocks and lets the power of it overwhelm him, wet heat and tightness and the pulse of his cock. He slumps against Dorochet’s back, boneless and sweat-slick, listening to the rapid pulse of the chimera’s heartbeat.

For a few minutes, that’s all there is, the sound of their breathing, the scent of sex, the warmth of their bodies pressed together. Then Dorochet stiffens, nervous tension across his shoulders, and Greed rolls off him. “What’s the matter?”

Dorochet glances over at Martel, but can’t seem to find words.

She looks at Greed, raises an eyebrow in a question. He nods. “Dorochet,” she says, coming over and sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Thank you.”

That doesn’t seem to be what Dorochet is expecting at all, because he just blinks at her a few times before trying, “You’re welcome?” Greed smiles, and buries his face in Dorochet’s hair to hide it.

“I’m glad you let me see that,” Martel says. “I’m glad you trusted me enough.”

Dorochet manages a little smile, at that. “We’re...comrades, right?”

“And friends, I hope,” Martel says with a little shrug and a tilt of her head, and more of the tension drops out of Dorochet’s back.

Greed could just kiss her. “Come here,” he says, reaching for her. “I get the middle, but the bed’s big enough for three.”

Martel grins, and climbs over Dorochet to curl up against his other side, her hand on his chest. He kisses her forehead, and feels one of Dorochet’s hands come up to meet hers, their fingers lacing together. He slides one arm around each of them, holding them close. If the others could get along this well, he thinks, there’d be no end to what they could accomplish together. The things he could do with that much devotion....

Greed closes his eyes with a smile. It’s something he’ll have to work on.


End file.
